In a Room With Ghosts
by dashinginconverse
Summary: His presence is everywhere she looks. RollinsBrie, oneshot


_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything._

_**Summary: His presence is everywhere she looks. RollinsBrie, oneshot**_

_I...don't really know what this is. And I totally feel like I start off a lot of my author's notes with that same phrase. But I wanted to write for Seth and Brie so incredibly much and this just kind of poured out. I credit __**clarembees **__for this, actually, and her awesome writing for these two. I'm obsessed with Seth and Brie together now and it's so crazy because before I was rather lukewarm to them together before and now I'm trying to come up with cute pairing names for them. (Right now I'm rather partial to Bellins Mode, lol.) Anyway! After this long, rambling note, please enjoy this fic! _

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><p><strong>In a Room With Ghosts<strong>

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><p>Like sand, like water, like a promise, he slips through her fingers.<p>

For some reason, she had always known it wouldn't last. As cliché as it sounds, it felt like they would last forever - at one point in each relationship, isn't there _always _that moment? - and then the forever disappeared as soon as he turned his back on his brothers, turned his back on her.

Brie tries to think back to when times were simpler, when things were easy, when she was able to tell him she loved him beneath the sheets, amidst a frenzy of giggles as he peppered her neck with kisses.

And he'd said the words back.

And she'd believed them.

And she was so, so foolish.

The brunette sighs as she sits on the bench that makes up her windowsill, a cup of tea warming her hands, hardly touched in the thirty minutes since she'd poured it. It was a shame, wasting such good tea, but Brie cannot find it in her to take a sip.

Even now, she sees him behind her eyelids. He's like a pesky phantom, always at the edges of her thoughts, but when she decides to think of him directly, he vanishes from her, as if he were never there in the first place.

Brie smirks bitterly to herself at her silly thoughts before lifting the tea to her lips, pausing before even drinking a sip, and then lowering it back.

For the most part, she's angry at herself. For allowing herself to care so much about someone, especially as reckless as she had been in the start of their relationship. Things with Brie were always thought through, planned to the last miniscule detail. Nikki was the impulsive one, Nikki was the bombshell, Nikki was the one who fell hard and loved harder.

Brie was supposed to be rational, Brie was supposed to be careful, Brie was supposed to have a plan - _and not a Plan B,_ she thought bitterly.

But there are a lot of things that are _supposed_ to be, and not every one of them actually comes into fruition.

Brie supposes that's the saddest part about this whole situation, after all.

All the girlish thoughts she had for the two of them - the dreams of an embarrassing twelve-year-old girl - would never come to pass. Too much has changed and not enough has remained the same.

The beginnings of rain start to patter against the windowsill. Her eyes follow each and every drop just to have something to do. The action is supposed to keep her mind off of things, but her mind won't let her focus on the simplicities of life that she used to enjoy so much.

_"I love you, Brie."_

The specter of his words creep across her subconscious, causing her back to straighten, her chest to tighten. She remembers his face all too well - the soft brown eyes and the kind words he would always have at the ready. She tries to forget them, has tried to forget them ever since his betrayal, but they stick in her mind as if knowing just how much pain they cause her, as if they enjoy inflicting it.

She closes her eyes and tries not to remember - and she fails.

After a few moments, she opens her eyes, her gaze falling on the couch, where the two of them had sat and watched cheesy horror movies every Friday. They were his favorite, after all, and Brie had always been strangely parital to them. She remembers how his hand felt, curled with her own, and how he'd squeeze when a particularly amazing scene was about to occur.

The sharp stabbing of pain as she thinks of all those times becomes even worse when she looks to the kitchen, thinking of all the meals they'd shared. That was another one of their traditions, each Thursday. Seth would cook for Brie or Brie would cook for Seth or if that didn't work out, they'd order pizza. More often than not, they'd cook and Seth would wrinkle his nose at her odd organic ingredients and Brie would try to smile as he ate what she cooked anyway, because he was _good _like that.

As much as Brie tries to look away from anything that reminds her of him, she fails. Each and every time, she fails. There is no piece of this apartment that doesn't remind her of his laugh, or of his voice, or of his very _being._

There, by the hallway, where she had hung mistletoe at Christmas and the two had mocked the concept before succumbing to it completely.

There, at the doorway, where she'd said goodbye to him more often than she'd like to admit.

There, on the balcony, where he'd said he loved her for the first time, and where she'd reciprocated.

And again, there, on the balcony, where things had fallen apart for good.

Brie inhales shakily as she presses her forehead against the glass. The pattering of raindrops has intensified and she finds the monotony soothing, as soothing as it could be considering the complete jumble of her thoughts.

Placing the cup of tea down, she curls her legs beneath her and wraps her arms around her knees, and then automatically begins fiddling with the sleeves of the shirt she wears. It is a long-sleeved shirt, old and ratty and far too large on her, brandishing the name and logo of some metal band she had never heard of until she met him. It is the one, tangible thing she has left of him - the only tangible thing she will allow herself, and that thought is more depressing than she wants to admit.

And, as Brie Bella fights this particular war within herself, she sits, shrouded in the ghosts of her past.

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><p><em><strong>End.<strong>_


End file.
